


Third Eye Blind

by youreyestheyglow



Series: The Night Life [1]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale, wtnv
Genre: Cecil has secrets, M/M, Some Fluff, moving tattoos headcannon, some smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-22 21:15:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/918105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youreyestheyglow/pseuds/youreyestheyglow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos finds out that there is quite a bit more to his boyfriend than he previously believed. Cecil also reveals his historical knowledge, and ignorance regarding the outside world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Ladies and Gentlemen... Welcome to Night Vale.”

Carlos turned down the radio. While he did like to know what was going on, he already had a project. The trees. His earlier tests had been inconclusive, but now, now he  _knew_ there was something wrong. For one thing, they were all putting out a faint pattern of beeps, on a very low frequency. For another, they were all putting out the  _same_  signal, on the  _same_ frequency, regardless of species, age, height, stage of leaflessness, or whether or not they were deciduous. He wasn't precisely a botanist, but he knew for a fact that trees did not speak in Morse Code, which he was 60% sure it was. He'd been listening to it for the past few days, and had several pages of dots and dashes. It had taken him some time to figure out how best to type them on the computer, seeing as he had run out of paper two days after his arrival, and the city council had banned it and writing utensils, making his job much more difficult. 

He looked up a Morse Code translater. He was not a botanist, and he also did not understand Morse Code, just the concept of it. He entered in the sequence of dots and dashes, which had been repeated multiple times, over and over and over again, and had only changed once in the past three days. That other sequence had not repeated. He entered it in anyway. 

He hit enter.

It loaded.

The wifi here was not the best. 

The translation popped up. 

He sighed. He had been right; it was Morse Code indeed, and if not, the trees' language certainly translated into words. Of course, it wasn't something polite - he'd been hoping for something along the lines of, "we come in peace. We mean you no harm. We will give you oxygen in return for CO2." But, of course, he was right; it, like everything else in this damned town, was threatening random death and destruction. Unlike the rest of the town, however, it was not straightforward, but actually made no sense. 

Something he never thought he'd say - 'unlike Night Vale, this makes no sense.' In his 1.5 years in town, he had gotten used to its random murder, daily catastrophes, and the void that had long since eaten the stars above the town. Truth be told, while he  _had_ come for the scientifically interesting phenomena, he had had quite enough of it, and would have left with the rest of his peers if it weren't for Cecil Baldwin, the Voice of Night Vale, who had somehow managed to hold a promenant job in town and survive for years. In any other place in the universe, he'd have said that it was to keep the public from noticing, but in this tiny town in the middle of the desert, where children learned biology from the skeleton of an ex-mayor, he doubted that that was the reason. Perhaps it was because Cecil kept the masses calm. In a town like this, Carlos assumed that was a difficult job, and Cecil did it quite well. 

Carlos picked up his cell phone and speed dialed Cecil, who was #1, replacing his boss, who had not contacted him in several months, but continued to send him paychecks. The phone rang 4 times, and went to voice mail. Of course - Cecil was busy with his radio show. "Cecil. It's me. I'm not calling for personal reasons. I would like your assistance in understanding what the trees are saying. Maybe I haven't lived here long enough, but I'm not getting what they're trying to say. Feel free to stop by any time after your show is done. See you. Bye." Carlos hung up, turned up the radio, and waited. Cecil was giving the traffic report. Carlos remembered the many, many traffic reports he'd heard over the course of his life. "There is a 13 car pile up on route 9." "Route 70 is stop-and-go for seven miles, between exits 18 and 23." "Main Street is moving slowly, as cops attempt to move traffic along through the power outage that left the traffic lights dark today." And then Night Vale. "You are crying because of the 15-year-old child in your back seat. You want to hug him. You want to throw him out of the car. You want to go back in time and insist on using a condom." "Let's take a look at the traffic. Hm. Yes. That  _does_ look quite interesting. Wow. Well, that does it for today's traffic." "Route 800 seems to have disappeared." 

Cecil was currently reporting on the five-headed dragon who had been arrested for insurence fraud and identity theft. Hyram, that was his name. He had been in prison since Carlos had arrived in town, and despite begging and bribing, Carlos had been unable to run tests on him, only view him from a distance multiple times to reassure himself that there was, in fact, a dragon in town. After seeing the mayor, it shouldn't have been such a shock, but it was. It still was.

"Ladies, Gentlemen, and You, a few minutes ago my phone buzzed." Cecil's voice, usually deep, steady, and soothing, had hopped up half an octave, and had sped up slightly. Carlos felt a grin spread over his face. He had been put off the first couple weeks there by Cecil's discussion of him, worried that people would comment, but had quickly realized that in Night Vale, happiness was not a thing to be made fun of, especially when one was worried about being killed by one's double. "There is a voicemail from -  _guess who?_ \- Carlos! Perfect, lovely Carlos has called me, and left a voicemail. I doubt the station manager would approve of me playing it on the radio, when I'm not quite sure what it says, so I will leave you with a word from our sponsor." 

Today's sponsor was Coca Cola, with a riveting story of drowning in an unfortunate amount of hydrochloric acid. The shock of the sponsors' statements had worn off after precisely one day, after he realized that most businesses out in the real world tried to suck their patrons dry also; those in Night Vale were just honest about it. To this day, however, he didn't get why businesses that weren't in town advertised on the town radio station. Red Lobster, for instance - there was no Red Lobster in town, not even a burned down one, and as Carlos was 97% sure that no one but his team of scientists had ever left the town, he doubted that outside businesses were profiting from Night Vale advertisements.

"Listeners, dear listeners - I now know what the voicemail says, and it is perfectly radio appropriate. Listen for yourself." " _Cecil. It's me. I'm not calling for personal reasons..._ " The message played out. "What do you think he  _means_? Could he be asking for my assistance in scientific matters? I will have you know, Night Vale citizens, that I have become very interested in science recently. Perhaps - he is recognizing that? Helping me to learn more? Could it be possible - I doubt it, but could it be possible that - Carlos - wonderfully intelligent Carlos - could  _need my help_? Truly? Listeners, my interest has been piqued, and although he said that I could come over at any time, I will have to go straight after this show is over. If he wants my company, who am I to deprive him of it? And if he needs my help, who am I to withhold it? For all I know, he - oh - oh dear. Station management appears to be thrashing around quite vigorously in their office. I am afraid I must return to the news. 

"Hyram McDaniels..." 

Carlos returned to his computer. He tapped his fingers on the keys. His first instinct was to google Night Vale history and see if anything matched up, but he had googled Night Vale, and nothing had come up. Google. Google had not come up with a single result. Google Maps hadn't shown any towns in the desert either, excepting Desert Bluffs, which ruled out the possibility that they simply hadn't bothered searching for towns in the desert. Of course, Desert Bluffs showed up as a single point on the map, with no street view and no streets, but Night Vale should have been the same. There was no way that this strange, strange town, which had been acknowledged by the national government, could have been left out. Even if it was a big desert, it shouldn't have been any trouble to place, using satellites and -

Something tugged at the back of his mind. Something about what he'd just thought didn't line up with other things he'd thought.

Carlos knew that feeling - it was the feeling he got when he was about to think of something that no one had thought of before. What was it about that thought that had caught his attention? What had he thought? What made no sense? Well, nothing made sense, but - 

Someone knocked on the door. Carlos rose, registering that Cecil's show was over and they had moved on to a show about the noises made by chainsaws cutting through metal and glass, and opened the door. 

"Ah - Hi, Carlos, you said - "

"Cecil, why are there trees?" The words spilled out of Carlos's mouth without prior approval from his brain, but he didn't mind - that was it, that was the thought he'd been trying to think. "Night Vale is in the middle of a flat, sandy desert. Why are there trees? The town isn't exactly an oasis. There are  _pine trees_ here, for god's sake. Why are there trees?  _How_ are there trees?"

"The government planted them."

Carlos stood back so that Cecil could come in. He turned to close the door, watching one of Cecil's tattoos push his glasses up Cecil's nose out of the corner of his eye. The purple tentacle was back in place when Carlos turned around. Cecil didn't think Carlos knew his tattoos moved. Despite the fact that they had been dating for 6.2 months, and despite the fact that Carlos had seen weirder stuff than that - the five-headed dragon took the cake - Cecil seemed to be worried that Carlos wouldn't like moving tattoos. To be honest, Carlos was considering getting some - an extra hand around the lab would be useful. He and Cecil sat down at opposite sides of the kitchen table. "Why did the government plant them?" He had that feeling again. He didn't think it was about the trees this time. He had been thinking about Cecil's tattoos, and...

"I'm not sure. Possibly to keep Night Vale's residents shaded?"

"The trees aren't shade trees. And they're not like the Dog Park trees or the Whispering Forest - they didn't spring up overnight. I don't think. They haven't swallowed anyone up. Why are they here?" Moving tattoos. What was wrong with moving tattoos?

"I don't quite remember. Perhaps it was made illegal to remember? As the dutiful citizen I am, I would have forgotten -"

"No, you wouldn't have. Stop talking like you're on the radio, Cecil. You're in my lab, my house. You're with me. I've removed all three microphones the Secret Police snuck in this morning. You can talk here. You can trust me, Cecil. I love you. You know I wouldn't do anything to get you in trouble." Did he feel guity about manipulating Cecil? A little. Did he mean every word he said? Yes. So it wasn't a problem. 

Cecil slumped in his chair. "Forgive me, darling Carlos, but I lied earlier." He heaved a deep sigh and straightened. He looked Carlos in the eye. "The government, for once, had nothing to do with the trees. The trees were planted by the hooded figures. They were planted to hide the town. I'm afraid I don't know precisely how they work." 

"Hold on a second. The trees speak in Morse Code. I translated it earlier. It doesn't make sense to me. That was why I needed you - if anyone knows this town's history, it's you. Hold on a second." Only in Night Vale would he go to a radio talk show host instead of a historian. 

He returned seconds later with his computer. "What does this mean?"

Cecil read the message aloud. " **We will not be found. We will not be seen. Only acceptable outsiders will be allowed inside. There will be a repeat of Valentine's Day 1955 should anyone try to bring an unacceptable person into Night Vale.** "

"You know, it's really cute, how you automatically read things with the intonation they were intended to have."

Cecil flushed bright red up to his hairline. 

"Sorry, continue."

"The War of - sorry -  **The War of 1833 is proof that few can enter Night Vale without attempting to kill all inhabitents. The inhabitents are fodder for the Hooded Ones only.** " Cecil's blush faded. " **We are now wiping your mind. This place will never be remembered or acknowledged by you again. We hope that our explanation is satisfactory, and that you will not resist the mind wipe. Thank you.** The second paragraph says:  **You are listening. We know. Know this, Being Who Is Neither In Nor Out: you may be protected, but should you attempt to harm us, you will be brought down to the Dog Park. Thank you. Good bye.** "

"So what does the first part mean? I get the general message, but what happened on Valentine's Day of 1955? I know this year's was particularly messy, but why was 1955 worse? And what's the War of 1833?"

"Well, Valentine's Day of 1955 involved a very interesting massacre - the Hooded Figures stepped in, I believe. Actually, they did most of the massacreing, if I remember correctly. And they usually don't go to others, they let others come to them. Also, they don't usually do much but take children. Hooded Figures actively whipping out weapons, shooting electricity from their hands, and force-feeding children slightly moldy chocolate cake is a once-in-a-lifetime thing. Aside from that, no more died than usual.

"The War of 1833 was interesting in a different way - the government dropped a nuclear bomb on our city. After that, several hooded figures disappeared for some time - I really started to miss the one that hangs out in front of Big Rico's - and when they returned, they had several missiles with them, which they set up on the edge of town. They were never used, but I believe they were to be used if the government tried to come back."

"Cecil - did you just say - never mind. What about the 'fodder for the hooded ones' part?"

"Well, in all likelihood, it just means that when we die, our bodies will be taken by the Hooded Figures and eaten."

Carlos snorted. "And that's happened before?"

"Of course. Love - you _do_ know what happens when you die, right?" Cecil sounded worried. "Didn't anyone ever tell you?"

"I - ah - yes. I - oh, is that why there's no graveyard here?"

"What's a graveyard?"

"It's where dead people are buried. Everywhere except here, anyway."

"...Buried?" Cecil sounded insultingly incredulous. "Carlos, I  _have_ been to Europe, you know, and I never saw dead people in a depressed yard."

"Cecil, I don't know how much of your trip to Europe was induced by hallucinatory drugs and how much wasn't, and what do you mean by depressed yard?"

"A grave yard?"

"Grave - oh. Cecil." Carlos reached across the table and grasped Cecil's hand. "One day, you and I are going to sit down, and I am going to tell you all about the outside world. But it's going to have to wait. What does the second paragraph mean?"

Cecil seemed slightly fixated on Carlos's hand. "Sit down and - yes - yes, we will have to. Of course. What? The - ah. The second paragraph. I believe it is directed toward you. You were an outsider, but have not tried to kill any of us, but are not truly an insider - neither in, nor out. And I believe that it is telling you that despite your protection, should you try to move against the Hooded Figures, you will be brought down to the Dog Park and die a horrible, horrible death." Cecil's voice quavered. "Please, dear Carlos - for me, if for no other reason - do not move against the Hooded Figures."

Carlos squeezed Cecil's smooth hand. "Of course I won't. But what protection am I under?"

"I - do not know."

Cecil would never hide anything that could endanger Carlos, he knew, but all the same, Cecil was lying. "Cecil, why doesn't your eye move?"

"My eye? Which one? I have two, and both of them move quite well -"

"No, your third eye. The tattoo."

"The - the tattoo? Why would - what makes you -"

"Cecil, I know your tattoos move. I don't mind. Why doesn't the eye move?"

"You know my tattoos move?" Cecil's voice was small. 

"Yes."

"Ah."

Carlos rose and dragged his chair around next to Cecil's. He sat and wrapped his arm around Cecil's shoulder, pulling him closer. Cecil rested his head on Carlos's shoulder. "Cecil. Unless you've killed someone, I love everything about you. And knowing you and this town, if you killed someone, it was probably for a good reason. Stop  _worrying_. I love you, and I love your tattoos."

There was silence. And then, without lifting his head - 

"I had a strange childhood. I don't know what it's like outside, in the real world, but judging by your lack of psychological problems, childhood in the real world is simple. Mine was strange, even by the standards of Night Vale.

"When I was younger, I was chosen, at random, possibly due to the strength of my vocal cords, to be the eyes, ears, and voice of Night Vale, for the Hooded Figures. I speak, and people listen. I am the motivation that gets them through the day. I give them information, information that has saved lives. I am their protector. As such, I am also, despite the fact that I am perfectly willing to talk about everything and anything on the radio, their secret keeper. People tell me things. If something happens, I know. I am, essentially, the town database. Should there be something the Sheriff's Secret Police or the Hooded Figures do not know about, I can, and do, tell them."

"How are you the eyes if you spend so much time in the radio station?"

"When I was chosen, one of the Hooded Figures touched my forehead. When its - hand? - came away, I had this eye. It sees the entire town. I rarely use it - for one thing, I already hear everything, and for another, it also allows me to see the entire void."

"The entire void? Where does it end?"

"It doesn't."

"How far can you see?"

"Forever. And it is somewhat terrifying. So I don't use it very often." 

"Understood." 

"Also - that's whose protection you are under. Mine. I have certain - privilages, thanks to my usefulness, and one of them is that I am allowed to name a few people whom I do not wish to be hurt. You are one of them. Of course, it only applies to the Hooded Figures, and should you do anything to hurt them they will certainly take retribution, but you will not be randomly chosen for death or experiments."

”Thank you."

“You’re welcome.”

”Would you like to stay here for a little while?”

Carlos could practically feel the blush spread across Cecil’s cheeks. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

Carlos stood up. “Let’s at least move to the couch, it’s more comfortable there.” He led Cecil by the hand to the soft and perhaps  _slightly_ worn couch, where Cecil placed his head back on his shoulder. He turned on the TV, flipped to America's Got Talent, and muted it. The TV seemed like it should be on, since there were people sitting in front of it, but cheering and critiques were not the order of the day.

He began humming a lullaby that he remembered from some time in his childhood. He had vague memories of his mother singing it to him. Cecil's head slipped, and Carlos gently lowered Cecil's head into his lap and ran his fingers through Cecil's hair. Cecil might say that Carlos's hair was the best, but Cecil's thick, blond, perfectly coiffed hair took the cake. 

There was a click from the back window. "Hey, secret police?" Carlos whisper-yelled in their direction. "If you're up, would you mind shutting off the lights?" He waited a moment, eyes on the TV. The lights flicked off after a reluctent pause. "Thanks." He smiled a little and hummed until he, too, drifted off to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Radio signals. Also sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually know very little about radio signals. Put down all errors, and everything I say about signals of any sort, to the fact that Carlos’s field of expertise is not in sound frequencies, and the experience Carlos has picked up in working around the fucked up laws of Night Vale physics.

The computer was moving more slowly than ever. Carlos had a grand total if 15 different tabs open, all about radio signals. He was pretty sure he had the basics down, somewhat, but would they work in Night Vale? Probably not, in which case this was useless. 

A glance at the clock - the fake clock - showed that it was several hours until Cecil's show. It had been three days since Cecil had fallen asleep in Carlos's lap, and Carlos had seen neither hide nor hair of him since. He strongly suspected that Cecil was embarrassed, a suspicion backed by Cecil's own radio-broadcasted spiral into depression. No matter what Carlos said or did, no matter how much time they spent together, Cecil seemed constantly worried about rejection. It had been frustrating at first, but now, months later, and after realizing that it didn't make Cecil particularly jealous or possessive, it became almost endearing. Carlos picked up the phone. 

"Hello?"

"Cecil? It's me. I'm calling for both personal and impersonal reasons. I miss you, would like to see you, and also need your expertise on radio signals."

Momentary silence, and then something Carlos never thought he would hear: "Impersonal  _again_? When will you call just to say hi?"

"Was that flirtacious anger? Because in all honesty, I wasn't sure if Night Vale citizens knew what that was."

"Was that bad?" Cecil's voice was shakey and anxious on the other end of the line. "Should I not have done that?"

Carlos huffed a laugh. "It's fine. I'm impressed."

"Should I do that more often? What, exactly, did I do?"

"Cecil."

"Yes?"

"Come over."

"All right."

"I am going to hang up now. You are going to come over to my house, and I am going to cook you something that is wheat-and-wheat-by-product free. We are going to eat lunch. And you are going to do and say whatever you like, because I will love you anyway. And I can hear you blushing."

"You can't hear the surge of blood to the veins in a person's cheeks."

"Can _you_? Ears of Night Vale?"

"If one of the Secret Police's cameras is close enough, and the sound is turned up loudly enough, and if we had a sound system that worked that well, yes."

"I love you."

"I - I love you too, Carlos."

For some reason, Carlos smiled. It was stupid. It was just a profession of love from one of the most intelligent and clear-eyed and understanding and loyal and handsome people Carlos had ever met. Cecil was the one who smiled at sappy stuff like that. Carlos only smiled at complicated, interesting stuff, like space, and Cecil, and finding new stuff that exploded. And, now, at Cecil, verbal affection, and love, apparently. He'd never smiled when previous boyfriends had told him they loved him. "Come over. I'm cooking now. Gluten-free pasta."

"All right. Good bye, Carlos."

"Bye." Gluten-free pasta was another thing that had changed with Night Vale. There had once been a time when Carlos walked right by the gluten-free pasta, having tried it once and instantly given it up. But after the unfortunate incident with the wheat and wheat by-products, gluten-free pasta was the only thing that was available, and he had developed a taste for it. It was expensive, seeing as it was bought on the black market, but the paychecks he was getting covered it. 

Cecil was at the door five minutes later. Carlos opened the door, let him in, turned, and kissed him. Cecil went stiff with shock, and then tangled his fingers in Carlos's hair and opened his mouth. 

"Do you hear something bubbling?" He whispered.

Carlos opened his eyes. "Bubbling? What?  _The water_  -" Carlos dashed into the kitchen just in time for the water to bubble over the side of the pot. "Dammit, I forgot - it's never boiled this fast before - " He tried to turn the flame down, but boiling water kept dripping on him.  _  
_

A purple tentacle shot past him and turned down the flame. The bubbles died down. The tentacle retracted. "Sorry, it looked like you were having some trouble."

"No, no, thank you," Carlos said as he ran his hand under cold water. He heard pasta dropping into water behind him. "Is that tentacle burn proof?"

"Well, it's not exactly attached to me, I don't know how many nerve endings it has, and it doesn't appear burned, so I would conclude that it is indeed burn proof. Is that the scientific term?"

"I have no idea." He turned to see that Cecil wasn't doing anything - his tattoos were. "That is really, really cool. Where did you get those done, and if I get some, will mine move too?"

"I don't know, they all seem to turn out differently."

"That's a shame."

Silence fell, broken only by the sounds of the water simmering in the pot.

"You needed my expertise on radio signals?"

"Right. Yes. Can radio signals be traced?"

"I'm not sure. Why? Are you tracing the signal to my radio station? You know where it comes from."

"No, I want to trace the signal from the trees. The trees themselves can't be giving it off, right? It's the same exact thing, at the same exact time, for every tree in Night Vale, outside of the Dog Park and the Whispering Forest. That would take either enormous coordination or a single source broadcasting through the trees. I want to know who's broadcasting it."

"Why?" Cecil sat at the table and watched Carlos pace, pausing every minute or so to stir the pot.

"I've been paying more attention to the trees the past few days, and wherever they pop up, the void follows. If whoever's broadcasting doesn't want Night Vale to be found, they could be causing the void - a space where satellites can't see, where planes can't navigate, where people on the ground can't use the stars to navigate. How can google maps plot the town if it doesn't exist? If I can block the signal at the source, the void might disappear. Screaming at the void will no longer be a hobby. Shutting down school because nothing matters won't happen again. People won't lose their minds. And you could open that third eye. Also, without the protection of the void, would the Hooded Figures be able to survive for long? When people start finding this town, what to the Hooded Figures? The Librarians? How many people would be saved?"'

"Do you - Carlos, do you think that if Night Vale became like the real world, people would think I was - strange?"

Cecil sat straight in his chair, a thin, tall man, pale skinned with blonde hair, purple tentacle tattoos down his arms and an unknown amount of the rest of his body, a tattoo of a closed eye on his forehead, and a light pair of glasses resting on his nose.

"Probably. But it's ok. You could just get a job at another radio station, motivate and protect everyone who listened to you, and slap them with your tentacles if they say anything mean."

"Would that be acceptable behavior?"

"Probably not."

"Carlos, if I end up in the real world, how will I survive?"

Carlos walked around the table to where Cecil sat, placed one hand under Cecil's chin, and kissed him gently. "By living with me, you moron. Do you think I would let you go just because the lives of thousands aren't being threatened daily?"

Cecil took Carlos's hand and moved it to his cheek. "You don't - have anyone waiting for you? There's no one you wouldn't rather be living with?"

Carlos stroked the well-defined cheekbone under his thumb. "Cecil. Cecil Baldwin, Eyes, Ears, and Voice of Night Vale, if I wasn't living with you, I'd be living alone. I was single for a long time before I came to Night Vale, and quite honestly, I'd rather be single than be with anyone other than you, you insecure little historian. I love you, and if you think I would rather be with anyone else, you should just slap yourself with one of those tentacles, because you might be able to beat some sense into yourself. I always thought that was a figure of speech, but here, it might be literal. It's worth a shot." Carlos smiled. "You're cute when you blush."

"You're not helping the situation," Cecil murmured. 

Carlos moved closer.

"Do you smell burning?"

" _The pasta_." Carlos managed the crisis without Cecil's help this time, salvaging most of the pasta and spooning it into bowls. "Lunch is served." He slid the bowl and a fork in front of Cecil.

"Where did you get the pasta, anyway?"

"The black market."

"The - ? Carlos - that's - the Sheriff's Secret Police are listening in at all times!" he hissed. "You can't just - "

"I've screwed with the cameras. It feeds them a loop that makes it look like I never leave my lab. No one's picked up on it yet. I don't think they're used to the cameras being tampered with."

"Why would you tell me? I broadcast everything I hear to the entire town!"

"I trust you." Carlos took a bite. And another. He looked down at his bowl as he waited for Cecil's blush to fade. 

"I can see radio signals."

Carlos nearly spit out his pasta. "What? How? Did your eyes become superhuman? How is that even possible - why am I asking that? What else can you see?"

"No - with my third eye. I can see everything with it. Everything. Within the town, anyway."

"Within the town?"

"Yes."

"Well, that lends credence to my tree/void idea - the void is part of the town, if you can see it. That's really, really cool. Can you see wifi too? What else can you see? Energy pulses? Heat? Does it have night vision?"

"I have only opened my eye once. I saw every single thing in town. I saw the station manager and the Sheriff's Secret Police and the void and angels and the Hooded Figures. Within that miasma of horror, I saw blips of color, fading into the void, and reddish waves flowing from the sun. I saw everything, and while I did not take the time to parse through it all, I am sure it was all there."

"Did you see the Dog Park? What does the Whispering Forest look like?" Perhaps he was being a little insensitive? But then, Cecil had brought it up again.

"Neither existed when I opened my eye."

"How old were you?"

"Young."

"How old are you now?"

"I'm afraid that information about our ages is... inaccurate, to say the least. Sometimes we cancel days, because they get in the way. Time moves differently, unsteadily. And it seems to pass without being noticed. Any age given is approximate; true age is unknowable."

"Cecil. How old are you."

"Anywhere from 15 to 246 years old."

"...I see. I like the first answer better. How about..." Carlos compared Cecil to himself and those he remembered from the real world. He had few wrinkles - astounding, really, in a world of so much stress - and one single grey hair that Carlos had managed to find in all of his perusals of Cecil's coif. He might dye his hair, of course, but Carlos hadn't managed to find a single box of hair dye in his entire time here. He looked old enough that building muscle was a long-gone dream, but he wasn't so old that his muscles had atrophied. "I'd put you in your mid thirties. 35? Older? Closer to 40?"

"How old are you?"

"41."

"Is that - a proper age difference?"

"Yes. It's fine."

Silence fell as Carlos ate and Cecil picked at his food. Did people in Night Vale eat? Their first date, they had eaten a single portobello mushroom, which was by no means  _tiny_ , and which was gourmet and therefore automatically small, but all the same. 

"Did... did you  _want_ me to look for the signal?"

Carlos wiped his mouth and sat back in his chair. "I'll be honest. I don't know if anything that works out in the real world works here. You have an entire goddamned _house_  that doesn't exist, for god's sake. For all I know, the signal isn't coming from anywhere, and doesn't exist. If you can see it, and tell me where it's coming from, it would make things much easier. But if you don't want to, I'm not going to make you. I wouldn't want to look into the void either. Do what you're comfortable with."

Cecil shut his eyes. And then the other eye, the third eye, twitched. The eyelid slid open. The eye underneath, moving frantically, was purple, vividly purple, more purple than anything Carlos had ever seen, more purple than anything humanity or nature could make, was that color even on the _visible spectrum -_ ?

And then it closed, and Cecil opened his eyes, the normal ones, the ones that were purple, but seemed faded and cloudy in comparison to the purity of the purple he had just witnessed. "That is _incredible_. Did you really see everything? Just sitting right here?"

"Yes. And the signal is coming from the roots. All of the roots appear to be intertwined. All of the roots, in fact, appear to be the same root, branching out and budding up into trees above the surface. Actually, it's more of a lattice than a root system. Also, it seems to be originating from a pine tree outside of the post office."

"So if that pine tree is gone, does the signal stop?"

"I would assume so."

Thoughts flew through Carlos's mind. Before Night Vale, they had meant an interesting new experiment to try. Now, they meant the possibility of an extremely painful death. "So I could chop down the pine tree. But it's in a very obvious place, and if it doesn't work, the Hooded Figures will know that I'm acting against them, and they will act against  _me_. So I should probably try it in a less obvious place. If I chopped the roots underneath a specific tree, it should stop the signal. If the void weakens, I'll know it worked, and I can go for the pine tree. Unfortunately, the Hooded Figures might still notice me, and - "

"No, they won't."

"Hm?" Carlos chewed on his bottom lip. It was an unfortunate habit he had developed during college, and had never managed to break.

"They won't notice you. For the most part, the Hooded Figures can see and hear no more than the rest of us, they just tend to be much more silent about it. They rely on me and cameras just as much as the Sheriff's Secret Police do."

Cecil should have had a halo around his head, he was so beautiful in that moment. Carlos strode the three steps to Cecil, grabbed his face, and kissed him hard. "You. Are. Beautiful. Where is the forest the thickest?"

"Approximately 1.3 miles from the post office," Cecil said in a high-pitched voice. 

"And when is the best time to go to avoid being seen?" Carlos trailed a hand down Cecil's neck.

"At - at night." Cecil's voice quivered. Carlos could feel his pulse quickening.

"I don't suppose I could bring the Eyes of Night Vale with me?" Cecil's skin was pale, smooth, and insultingly perfect. Carlos nibbled above Cecil's collarbone. 

"I - I - Carlos -" Cecil's head fell backwards and one hand ran through Carlos's hair. 

Carlos undid the buttons on Cecil's shirt and trailed one finger down the center of his stomach, through a writhing mass of tentacles that seemed at once to shy away from his touch and to crave it. "Are you okay with this? Because I can stop, if you'd like."

Cecil straightened up so fast he should have gotten whiplash. "What? No, no, I'm perfectly fine - if you are, that is, I mean, if you were looking for reasons to stop - "

Carlos slid his hands between Cecil's ass and the seat and lifted him. He was a scientist, but a generally health-conscious scientist, and Cecil was light. It helped that Cecil's tattoos seemed to be gripping on to him. He carried Cecil to the bed and lay him down in the middle of it. 

"Carlos?"

"Hm?" Carlos murmured as he kissed a hipbone. The tattoos seemed to stop there, Carlos was happy to see. There were a lot of things he could handle, but he didn't know if a tentacle dick was one of them.

"You have a radio in here."

"Mmhmm." He unzipped Cecil's pants and pulled them and Cecil's underwear off in one movement. A normal penis, thank god. And an erect one, which Carlos was also thankful for. 

"But no TV." 

Carlos slid up to hover over Cecil. "No. Why?"

"You listen to my show?"

"Of course."

Cecil flushed bright red. "Why, may I ask, are you still in clothing?" His eyes widened. "That's not how they do things outside of Night Vale, right?"

Carlos laughed into Cecil's shoulder. "No. No, it's not." 

Cecil was already removing Carlos's clothing, his tattoos once more coming in handy, as Cecil could remove all of Carlos's clothing at the same time. "Good."

"There's a bottle of lube and a box of condoms in the bedside table somewhere," Carlos muttered into Cecil's ribcage. There was another tattoo there, spirals that formed the shape of a blue kitten. The memory of a certain blue kitten, several months old by now, hovering in the men's bathroom with its mother, brothers, and sisters ran through Carlos's mind. The kitten moved, too, spiraling in place; like its real-life counterpart, it seemed unable to move very far. 

A helpful tentacle passed Carlos the bottle of lube, and he poured some over his fingers and reached down between Cecil's legs. Cecil made a very un-Cecil-like noise and his eyes rolled back in his head as he groped for and grabbed Carlos's hair, pulled him up, and kissed him. Carlos's shock at the force with which Cecil kissed him faded away when he realized that even Cecil could get over his relationship anxieties when his boyfriend had two fingers in his ass. 

When Carlos finally slid inside, Cecil was gasping for breath and twitching, squeezing around his dick so tightly that Carlos had trouble believing he'd stretched him out at all. "Are you all right? Am I hurting you?"

Cecil dug his fingers into Carlos's shoulders. " _Keep. Going._ "

Needing no further encouragement, Carlos thrust forward, knowing only the friction of heated skin and cool sheets and the Voice of Night Vale crooning in his ear until with a rustle and a yell, Cecil came, Carlos following soon afterwards. He pulled Cecil onto his chest, fingers tracing the feathers on his back. "I didn't know you had wings."

"Another tattoo. One that's better hidden and not as useful as the tentacles."

"How many tattoos do you have?"

"I'm not quite sure. There are some that I don't quite remember getting."

Carlos felt the familiar prick of anxiety that occurred whenever he thought about the ease with which Night Vale citizens accepted the things that happened to them on a daily basis. He had felt the same pain when Cecil had talked about missing the hooded figure that stood outside Big Rico's. Not because someone could miss a hooded figure - although that was strange - but because he had been discussing the war of 1833. And a nuclear bomb. And missiles. And not only had bombs and missiles not existed in 1833, but Cecil had been alive to miss someone. He knew he'd placed Cecil at 35, but based on some of the things Cecil said, and his thorough knowledge of Night Vale history in a town in which library visits were terrifying and school had no history class, he had the feeling that Cecil was quite a bit older than that. Sure, it was impossible to live that long, but there were lots of things about this town that were impossible, and the way time moved around the town was one of them. He'd heard multiple stories of time travel - he well remembered the self-proclaimed time traveler from a year ago - and he knew that the city council had discussed time travel, but he'd never taken it seriously until he started examining the clocks. Was it possible that, due to the void, Night Vale was outside of the time-space continuum? They might have called it the war of 1833, and it might have been in their past, but could it be that for the real world, that 'war' was yet to come? But then how could they interact with the real world in real time? He knew the town had chanted during WWII, and that the national government had known about a monument they'd erected and been subsequently forced to take down, but how? How did such a paradoxical world exist? 

But that was a hypothesis for another time.

"Sometimes I think about leaving. I was supposed to leave with the rest of my team of scientists, you know. And after I nearly died, I thought seriously about leaving. And sometimes, when people turn into clouds and my double appears in my lab, I think it's definitely time to get going. And then I think about you, and I hear your voice, and I see your eyes, and I stay. Every time. And if the void disappears and Night Vale collapses, I want you to come with me, and I want to show you the real world, and take you to Europe, and get you a cat. But I have to warn you, people won't believe most of what you say. Glowing clouds and cities of tiny people and whispering forests don't exist. Even angels are debatable. And I don't think your tattoos will move, either. So I want you to promise me that, if we get out, you'll tell me if you have any problems, and you'll let me help you, because I don't know what it's like to go someplace where your entire life is scientifically impossible, and I don't think I'd be able to live with myself if anything happened to you because I took away your life support system. All right?"

"I promise," Cecil mumbled. He sounded tired. So was Carlos, for that matter. He looked at his radio, set the alarm, and fell asleep to the rhythmic sound of Cecil's breath. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things come to an interesting conclusion. It’s a conclusion in the same way the end of the sixth Harry Potter book was a conclusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the inner voice that reads to you, ‘Ceece’ is pronounced ‘cease’, not ‘seesee.’ And make sure to feed that inner voice with proper words, sometimes it gets hungry and eats improper words, like ‘gonna’ and ‘wanna’. Don’t mistreat your inner voice. It might get hungry and eat... other things.

Cecil had screamed when he awoke, apparently not used to waking to an alarm. After Carlos had sworn multiple times that there was still 45 minutes until Cecil had to be at work, they had collected clothing and cleaned up the table, after Cecil inhaled the rest of his food, admitting that he was, in fact, hungry, and had been for quite some time. Carlos now sat, alone and lonely, in his lab, listening to the last five minutes of a show extolling the virtues of the Whispering Forest lifestyle. Carlos probably should have publicly denounced that, as the town scientist, but knowing that anyone in town could die painfully and disturbingly at any time, letting people pick a version of death that allowed them to live on as trees and die peacefully seemed more kind. 

"The moon is rising. The void is swallowing it. The void may be swallowing us. We can do nothing about it. Welcome. To Night Vale." Could anyone else detect the slight tremor of excitement underlying his words? Maybe, maybe not. "Old Woman Josie down by the car lot would like us all to know that the angels will be gathering at Big Rico's tomorrow night. She says that the angels would like us not to be there. The angels are having a bloodstone ceremony. Tickets can be bought by talking into the phone; the Sheriff's Secret Police will hear you, as all phones are, of course, bugged. Those who go are advised to pack for a long trip, and may not return.

"I am being handed a note now, from - it pains me to say his name - **Steve Carlsberg**. I would  _love_ to throw it into the fire, or better yet, into the _Dog Park_  (which listeners are reminded NOT to enter), but as a reporter, I'm afraid that I must read it." Cecil took a long breath. " _Steve Carlsberg_ writes - in a disgusting handwriting, really, didn't he go to school, we learned about this in Calling for Help 101 - that should you go to the angels' ceremony, you will never return, may die, and will in the best case scenario be transported to some alternate dimension." A sharp sound signified the crumpling of paper. " **Steve Carlsberg, I _just said_ that the angels did not want anyone there. Night Vale citizens have had plenty of warning and can make their own decisions.**" Carlos had never quite understood why Cecil hated Steve Carlsberg, except that he did, and that Carlos had seen steam rising from his hairline at the mention of the man's name. Carlos had resolved to check underneath his hair for more tattoos, and had never gotten around to it. 

" **Ignore him. He is an embarrassment to the town.** " Cecil took a deep breath. "In other news, Carlos the Scientist, my boyfriend," Carlos could hear the hearts doodled around his name and tensed, worried that he might hear an in-depth description of their afternoon, and was therefore dumbfounded by what came next. "My boyfriend has informed me, in an impersonal call this afternoon, that the trees may be  _speaking_. And not just like the Whispering Forest, but  _speaking_. What an  _interesting_ development. He asks that all Night Vale citizens stay away from the forest tonight, as he plans on running some scientific tests, and too many other living beings may interfere with his readings. Thank you."

What wa - oh.  _Oh_. No one would interfere that night, and anything that happened could be put down to strange tree fluctuations, with Carlos's presence a mere coincidence.  _Genius_. "I am dating a genius," Carlos muttered to himself as he hunted down the chainsaw he had been given within a week of his arrival. People tended to have interesting weapons on them, although he wasn't sure why; everything in this town that could kill you was immune to any weapon a person could use. 

30 minutes later Cecil was at his door. "Is it okay? What I said on the show tonight?"

"Perfect." Carlos grinned. He hefted the chainsaw and a flashlight. "Ready?"

"You don't need anything else?"

"Nah, if the void is connected to the trees, a hole should appear over the tree that's been disconnected. It should be visible."

"All right." 

They took Cecil's car, driving out to the edge of the forest, and walking from there. Cecil's third eye would flicker every so often, moving underneath its eyelid. They walked for an hour and a half, picking their way through the woods. Finally, Cecil paused and opened his eye. It flitted around in its socket, as though struggling to get out, and closed. Cecil took three steps to the left and patted an oak tree. "This is the middle. Right here."

Carlos placed the flashlight in a fork in the branches and examined the tree. It was old, very old, with thick roots trailing over the ground for several inches before dipping under the dirt. "Should've brought a shovel." Then again, that was how all of his experiments went when he worked alone: should've used a beaker, should've taken pictures before the thing blew up, should've brought a magnifying glass. At least he could dig with his hands. It was hard to use hands as a beaker for acid. 

He scooped out loosely-packed dirt from around the roots. Cecil knelt beside him, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work.

"You never got to change out of your work clothes."

"Well, I knew it would take us plenty of time, so I didn't want to waste any." 

"I hope the dirt stains will come out."

"I've got five pairs of the same pants in my closet."

Carlos snorted. "Sometimes I wonder if Night Vale is a demented cartoon - you know, the main character opens up their closet, and has to choose between fifteen of the same shirts and fifteen of the same pants. No point in digging out any more, we only need enough space for the chainsaw to cut without having to drag it through the dirt."

They moved on to the second root, and then the third. Cecil's eye fluttered open for a moment. "There's one more root, just a couple inches under the ground."

"Just one more?"

"Yes, here." 

Carlos flexed tired fingers and stuck the chainsaw in until it hit something. He pushed side to side until enough dirt had moved for them to see what they were doing. Why was there only one other root? Only four roots? And all close to the surface? He was no expert on trees, but weren't oak trees supposed to have better root systems? Then again, Cecil had said it was just one big lattice of roots. Nothing about this forest was normal, even ignoring the fact that there was dirt here, not sand, despite their location in the middle of a desert. 

So they dug until there was an empty hole around that root too, and Cecil stepped back as Carlos revved up the chainsaw. It caught on the first try, more proof of the otherworldliness of Night Vale, and the wood shrieked as the saw bit into it. Carlos had a moment to be grateful that they were as far away from the rest of the town as they could be, and then the saw was through. He glanced up at the sky, which showed no difference, and moved on to the second. It, too, cut easily, and Carlos glanced up to see no change in the void and - Cecil? "Cecil?  _Cecil_?" He stopped the chainsaw and dropped it, darting to his side. "Cecil? Are you all right?" 

Cecil sat on the ground, head in hands, shivering. When he looked up, his face was ashen. "Is it done? Is there a hole in the void?"

"No - Cecil, what's wrong? Are you sick? We should go back. I'm not taking you to a doctor - do you even have a doctor in this godforsaken town? - but I'll take you home. I'll make you some chicken noodle soup, maybe tea, do you like tea? You should get some sleep -"

"It will take you 2.3 minutes to cut through the other two roots. Do it. I want to know if it works."

"2.3 minutes exactly?"

"Yes." 

When was the last time Cecil had been exact about  _numbers_? He barely knew what  _year_ it was, let alone how much time it would take to cut through roots. But he stood and started up the chainsaw again, and cut through the third. 

Cecil was rocking. Back and forth, back and forth, and seemingly unable to stop. "Ceece -"

" **Are you going to finish or not?** "

Carlos nearly hacked off a foot in his hurry to cut the last root. And when the chainsaw severed the last piece, a light broke through - God? Was God real? Was he shining down on Night Vale? No - a glance up showed the moon, the moon had broken through the void and was shining through, right over him, there was a star just above him where the void should be -

And a yell broke his awe, as Cecil stood, hands falling from his face, revealing his third eye, vivid purple broken by streaks of red. "I - I can't see - where -" and his eye wasn't moving the way it normally did, it was fixed, fixed on the tree, on the break in the void, the hole in Night Vale, and the roots weren't cut anymore, they were growing back, clearing the breach and sealing it shut, and when they did, one pure purple eye snapped shut, and Cecil's imitation purple eyes snapped open. Those eyes darted around fearfully, landed on the chainsaw, and turned toward the far-away road. Cecil ran, disappearing into the forest, the sound of snapping underbrush fading away before Carlos could even grab the flashlight.

Every particle in his being wanted to run after Cecil. He could run fast, he knew he could, he could probably catch up -

But no, no he couldn't. There was a scientist, full of logic, buried somewhere in Carlos's head, and it spoke up, loud and clear, shouting what Carlos didn't want to know: that he had no third eye to guide him, that he had a flashlight to carry, that he would trip and fall a thousand times before making it out if he tried to run, and that there was a chainsaw to remove from the scene of the crime, a chainsaw that would not make it easy to run. So Carlos picked up the chainsaw, shone the flashlight over the cleanly healed roots, registered the lack of a scar or mark of any kind, noted the sudden disappearance of the moon, and left. It was probably good that he hadn't tried to run; the roots seemed larger now, the forest darker, the trees more threatening, without Cecil by his side to guide him. Night Vale seemed gloomier and more frightening too, and he was thankful, for the first time in his life, for the chainsaw by his side.

Cecil's car was gone.

Carlos walked home.

 

The next morning, Carlos walked to Cecil's house. He knocked. Rang the doorbell. Tried the locked door. Checked the window. There was no sign of Cecil, or of any life at all, for that matter. He walked to the radio station. No Cecil. Big Rico's. No Cecil. He wasn't hanging around the Dog Park, and the lawyers around the Whispering Forest hadn't seen him either. Carlos spent five hours in the forest, searching through the dense trees, ignoring the scientist in him that pointed out the lack of fresh footprints, the absence of a car. He didn't go home until 7:30, sitting on his bed, radio on, waiting until 8, waiting until either the Voice of Night Vale would speak or static would reign. He tried not to remember how Cecil's pale skin had looked against the dark sheets, how he had sat up straight in that kitchen chair, fallen asleep with his head in Carlos's lap on that couch, knocked on that door - was that really just last night? incredible - how he had stood in that lab with his hands pressed to his sides for fear of touching something that shouldn't be touched. The vivid red of his blush was already fading from Carlos's mind. 

"The void is intact. The rest of us are not. We hide from the world in broken shows to hide our broken souls. Welcome. To Night Vale."

 _Cecil_.

Carlos was out the door before Cecil finished speaking.

And he was outside the radio station twenty minutes later, when Cecil walked out. "Cece - Cecil -"

"Carlos."

"I'm so sorry - I didn't know - I never would have tried - are you all right? Do you need anything? You still look paler than normal -" He reached to touch that pale cheek, a cheek so pale it was a shock to think that it could blush red, and found his hand in Cecil's instead. 

Cecil pushed Carlos's hand down. "No. Not now. Good-bye, Carlos." And then he turned and walked away. 

Night Vale wasn't scary. It was  _lonely_. And loneliness brought its own kind of fear. 

 

Three days and twenty minutes later, Carlos was wrapping up his radio in a lab coat, for lack of a better wrapping material, when the doorbell rang. He opened the door and automatically stood back to let Cecil in. 

"Are you - Carlos, are you  _packing_?"

"Well - yes."

"Where are you  _going_?" Cecil's voice rose to a new pitch as he glimpsed the empty lab. 

"I was leaving. Leaving Night Vale."

Cecil stood in the bedroom doorway, probably taking in the half-wrapped radio. He turned and stood, framed by the doorframe. "Leaving Night Vale?"

"Leaving Night Vale."

" _Why - **why are you leaving Night**_ ** _Vale?_** " 

"I told you, remember - you're the reason I'm still here. And you seemed to have - left."

"Carlos you  _asshole_ , I said 'not now', not 'never'. You _jerk_! Don't you - don't you dare leave!" Cecil stepped forward, grasping at the air, unsure if he was allowed to grab Carlos, and if he was, what to grab. "I was in  _pain_ , I didn't understand what was  _going on_ , I needed - I - I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere, and if you  _dare_ leave, I will - I will -" steam was rising from his hairline again, little white wisps that dissipated as quickly as they appeared.

"Do you have a tattoo under there?" Carlos stepped forward, curiousity getting the better of him, and pushed Cecil's hair back. In all the time he'd spent playing with Cecil's hair, he'd never once looked at his hairline; hairlines weren't usually interesting. But Cecil had a dragon's neck tattooed along his, and suddenly the tattoo on the back of his neck made sense - it was a dragon's body. Not a western dragon, though, more of a lizard. " _Oh._ " 

"So - you're not leaving?" Cecil flattened his hair out, anxious not to be distracted.

"No. No, I'm not leaving." Carlos grinned.

It was Cecil's favorite grin, the one that shared a secret with him, the one that was meant for him alone. And he crushed it with his own grin, pushing his body up against Carlos's, dragging him into the bedroom, holding on tightly, unwilling to ever let go.

Carlos felt sharp hipbones digging into his, the brush of a tentacle against his waist, the sweeping feathers under his fingers, and pushed his otherworldly lover into the mattress. He found that he could elicit velvet moans by tracing tattoos, could stop Cecil's heart by tracing them with his mouth. He discovered that Cecil knew precisely where on his neck to kiss, the exact spot on his ribcage to graze his fingernails, to draw hisses and make his breath stop. They found a centuries-old rhythm and followed it to the end. 

And when they lay, legs and fingers intertwined, he found the resolve to stay in this strange town, to surround himself in its void and sand forever, because it meant that his voice, his Cecil, his entire world was contained in this place, connected to it in a way that could not be explained. And when a sleepy voice slurred an "I love you", he wasn't sure if it was his own or Cecil's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like easy happy endings, stop here. This is the end of a chapter and a story. If you want more cuteness, and more answers, and more otp sex, wait for the next installment (Spoiler: Carlos has a family). I’ll be honest, I’m not quite sure how to connect another work to this one, but I’m sure I’ll figure it out. If you have a tumblr, when I update I’ll tag it under ‘Julia’s wtnv fanfic’ (NOT Third Eye Blind, I’m not going to put an obscure fandom into a band tag). If you don’t have a tumblr, check in again in a day or two - it should be updated bye then.  
> Thank you so much for reading!! You’ve been the best audience uwu


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